I have been in a quandary over what I should write about this week. I thought I should maybe write about the shambles in the Poetry Society, having chaired the Boards of two other poetry organisations. And then I reconsidered. I really don’t want to get drawn in to a public debate on this, and besides, the numpties who did the damage have resigned.
Then I thought about writing about my attitude to revising poems, but I seem to remember I’ve written about this before, and I really can’t be fagged.
I also thought about my approach to reading poetry, which is an emotional one, rather than an intellectual one, but I thought it might start a debate with those of my friends who do approach poetry intellectually, analytically, and I don’t want to go there – it would end up as a nugatory bish-bash between contrary attitudes, and who needs that?
One thing I’m definitely not going to do is to comment on the riots, because I don’t live where they are, and what do I know anyway?
So I’ll just post a recent photo of my allotment, because I love growing things, and the produce is delicious and beautiful.
PS: Thanks to Gerry Loose for reminding me that the word quandariness appears in a Frank O’Hara poem, The Day Lady Died, which I should have remembered on account of it’s one of my favourite poems.